


Fiducia

by stravaganza



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fight Scenes, Flashbacks to Demands of the Qun, M/M, Mild spoilers if you don't know anything about Trespasser, Trespasser DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 09:03:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10510596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stravaganza/pseuds/stravaganza
Summary: Even after all these years, trust didn't come easily to Dorian.





	

**Author's Note:**

> After putting it off for two years, last night/this morning I finally finished Trespasser and this bit in the middle of it made me squeal with Adoribull feels! I had spared the Chargers but I wasn't 100% sure Bull wouldn't have other reasons to betray me, so when he didn't I was very relieved - and then I wondered how relieved Dorian must've felt -- and *then* their little banter played and I could've cried with joy! Their relationship fulfilled me more than any actual relationship I could have, to be honest.
> 
> This is my first time publishing something with these two, although I have many stories in the works, and it was written rather quickly, so let me know with a comment if you have constructive criticism for me!
> 
> Enjoy!!
> 
> PS. title is Latin for "trust"

“Hissrad! Now, please. _Vinek_ -”

Dorian felt like time froze around him. He stared at the Viddasala, her clear voice ringing out in Qunlat words he couldn’t understand – why, _why_ hadn’t he asked The Iron Bull to teach him that wretched language? – except for one: _Hissrad_.

He knew that was Bull’s name under the Qun. His title, rather, because Qunari didn’t have names. Dorian remembered the last time he had heard it, too – on the Storm Coast, that night so many years ago, when the Bull was forced to choose between his people and his _family_.

To Dorian, the Inquisitor and Varric, choosing to save the Chargers had seemed like not just the best thing to do, but the _right_ one. There was no question in their minds. But The Iron Bull had hesitated. Of course, why wouldn’t he? It was his people, even if to Dorian it was just a shipful of unnamed warriors helping to slay his own countrymen.

Bull had hesitated, pain clear in his gaze as his eye flickered from the dreadnought to the Chargers, soon to be overrun by Venatori agents. Only when he’d seen an enemy spellbinder aiming their staff at Krem’s head had Bull let out a roar and all but barrelled down the hill they were on, heading for the enemy while the Venatori on the beach focused their offensive on the Qunari ship.

Dorian had felt his breath rush back into his lungs, and he’d aimed a freezing spell to the enemy spellbinder, making Krem jump in surprise at the sound of ice shattering behind his back. The battle was short but bloody, and Dorian saw the way The Iron Bull carefully kept the dreadnought on his blind sight. That surely hadn’t kept him from hearing the gaatlok-fuelled explosion, but he kept his great focus on the battle he had chosen to fight.

There hadn’t really been a choice there, was what everyone thought. Everyone but the Bull. The Chargers were fine, just a few bruises and scrapes thanks to their quick intervention, but the Bull still hadn’t turned towards the beach. When everyone had lowered their weapons and thanked the Inquisitor and her companions, the Bull still clutched his great axe so hard his knuckles had blanched.

Dorian had risked a glance at Krem, and the man had shook his head, clearly as much at a loss as Dorian was feeling.

Later that night, back at camp, the Chargers had let themselves go to some heavy drinking and heavily out of tune singing, but the Bull hadn’t joined them. He’d gone for a walk on the beach, and eventually Dorian had decided to follow him. That day he had learned that Bull’s name – Bull’s _role_ – with the Qun was ‘liar’. He wondered what that meant for the man, what must have gone through his mind. What was he thinking?

Dorian had his answer when he heard faint thumping in the distance, and upon quietly approaching in case there was a fight going on, he found Bull bashing his head against a tree, scratching the rough bark with his horns, looking for all purposes his animalistic namesake. The mage had decided to leave The Iron Bull, just as quietly, to it. It was a better way to let anger out than others, he supposed, as long as the Bull didn’t hurt himself. Something told him the Qunari didn’t care much for it.

About a week after their return to Skyhold, Dorian had found himself with a bedful of drunken Tal-Vashoth mercenary. The Bull had seeked him out, asking to be hurt in the ways that Dorian usually liked to be hurt, the way that left his mind blissfully blank for a few glorious moments – with a watchword and gentle care afterwards. Bull hadn’t seemed interested in the latter, and Dorian had to insist until Bull’s emotions had spilled out of him, fears and doubts of ensuing madness and betrayal, of wondering if he was, in the end, just a liar.

Dorian had reassured him, and could almost feel their relationship shifting around them, settling like a great cocoon blanketing them both. That night had changed things in a way neither of them had comprehended at the time, The Iron Bull and Dorian bonding over things they had never talked about before. Home and loyalty, family and moral obligations, duty and love. They had found their experiences to be more similar than they had thought possible.

And now, that word was back. _Hissrad_. Liar. ‘Keeper of illusions,’ as Bull had explained to the Inquisitor. That word, and an order. _Liar. Now, please._

Dorian felt like he hadn’t drawn breath for a whole minute, his heart hammering so hard in his chest he could feel it pulsing against his temples. He turned his head towards the rest of the party to find them all unmoving, the Viddasala still pointing her finger towards The Iron Bull, her face contorted.

Nothing was moving, not even the motes of dust floating around the lit torches, and Dorian looked down at his hands, seeing sparks of golden and silver light dancing between his fingertips.

Slowly, the mage let his body deflate, trying to keep air coming to his lungs. They felt constricted like never before and Dorian had to struggle to keep himself from spiralling into a proper panic.

He looked at Bull, unable to move more than his head, and took in his profile. He could see his handsome features – the sculpted jaw and the pointy ears, his one eye sparkling in the light of the still flames. He saw determination, and felt his own body tremble lightly with fear. He felt whispers in his head, promises of saving the people he loved, even from themselves if needed, but Dorian knew how to keep the demons at bay.

If there was one person Dorian trusted with his life, besides the Inquisitor, that was The Iron Bull. Except… He remembered how conflicted the Bull had been when the Chargers’ lives had been on the line. That was years ago, but would he still feel the same? Would he still consider putting his people first, did he still think of them as his people, even if he had said more than once that he was not Qunari anymore?

It was hard for Dorian to trust. He had learnt how to with the Inquisition, carefully coaxed into opening up, into believing what people said, into slowly letting his guard down every now and then. The Bull had taught him with ropes and silks and promises, showing him patience and kindness, and despite that Dorian, right at that moment, still expected the man to break his trust. Dorian still expected the man who had won his heart to betray him, to betray everyone.

Dorian wished he could keep time still forever, the voice in his head spiking in an eager chorus of ‘ _Yes_!’ but he remembered Bull’s voice, his promises, the way he quietly whispered some words in Qunlat in Dorian’s ear after some of their more enthusiastic romps; words that always made the mage shiver with emotion despite not knowing their meaning for sure. He should have asked for their meaning ages ago, he should have said them to Bull in turn when he had had the chance rather than stubbornly putting it off, and now—

Now, Dorian blinked, closing his hands into fists and taking a deep breath. No, there was no time for doubts, not now and not ever. Not even with all the time magic in the world. He felt the spell crackle in the air around his hands as it sapped his mana pool, and slowly opened them again, letting the magic dissipate in a slow trickle.

He trusted The Iron Bull, with all his heart. And if he’d end up being a fool for that, so be it. In that case, there would be time for regrets later.

Time slowly resumed its flow, sounds warping around Dorian as they sped up again all at once, and he kept his eyes fixed on Bull as the Viddasala finished her order.

“- _khatas_.”

When the Tal-Vashoth opened his mouth in a bitter grimace to give his answer, Dorian could have dropped on his knees with the way they buckled forcefully.

“Not a chance, ma’am.”

Relief swept over Dorian like a rush of cold water, his heart swelling in his chest, and the moment the Qunari entered the room they moved as one – their hands going to their great axe and staff respectively – and they started their attack, Dorian dancing to Bull’s blind side, luring enemies closer to himself and then ducking beneath the taller man’s swings, a strategy that had proven successful more than once. The first time it had happened almost by accident, and when asked about it Bull had explained he could hear the way the air sizzled around Dorian, smell the smoke on his skin from his fire spells, different from their enemies charred bodies. The Bull had even joked it might have been because they were bonded, and Dorian had groaned and rolled his eyes even as his heart thumped happily in his chest at the prospect.

It was incredible how they were still so perfectly attuned, even after two years spent apart from each other, a thing the Inquisitor had noticed and commented on with a pleased smirk that had made Dorian bluster and Bull preen with pride as his huge hand had come down to cup Dorian’s shoulder and pull the mage closer.

Now, with fire lapping at the feet of relentless Qunari soldiers and Bull’s axe felling his former Ben-Hassrat ‘colleagues’, Dorian promised himself he would never let his pride come in the way of admitting how fond he was of The Iron Bull and their bond, at least not in private. That lummox deserved to know he was cared for.

When the battle was over, Varric pulling bolts out of dead enemies and the Inquisitor wincing as their hand pulsed violently with green light, Dorian allowed himself to feel that relief fully, even while being concerned about the Bull. He remembered how bad things had been the last time something like this happened, after all.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly, reaching gently to let his fingertips brush The Iron Bull’s hand, still holding on his weapon, wedged inside a shock trooper’s chest.

The Bull pulled it out with a wet sound, flicking some of the blood off and turning to regard Dorian with his good eye. Dorian felt his knees buckle again as Bull’s gentle smile filled him with relief once more.

“Never better, _kadan_.”

His callused fingers let go of the weapon and curled gently around Dorian’s fine hand, making the mage’s cheek flush as an uncontrollable happy smile spread on his face.

“I’m glad to hear it… _amatus_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!!


End file.
